Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [109]
But of course she lied, and mentioned another matter that wouldn’t have made for pleasant conversation during dinner but was acceptable over wine. “I am thinking of what Bigor said just before he jumped over. Did al-Amazigh have other French contacts aside from the marsouins?”
“Yes.” Hassan sipped his—unpoisoned—tea. “For some time, he considered bringing in allies to help overthrow Temür, and to ease the transition from a Horde territory to an independent state. But I argued against it. I could too easily see that we might simply trade one occupying force for another, especially as the French had asked for portions of the city to be given over, so that their citizens could also settle here.”
“One foot back in the Old World,” Archimedes said. “After losing so much territory in the Liberé war, they’ve been feeling the pinch.”
“Yes. Eventually, Kareem abandoned the idea, agreeing that the change needs to come from our own people.”
“What of the two French officers I saw him with in Port Fallow?” Archimedes asked.
“We still must find friends in the New World,” Hassan said. “To make certain that our trade routes are secure, that tariffs are reasonable, that our people will be able to travel without incident. We have met with a great number of men wearing many different uniforms.”
“But al-Amazigh wanted to kill you,” Yasmeen said. “Perhaps he had returned to his original intention, and didn’t want your opposition.”
Hassan nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But if he brings the French to Rabat’s doorstep believing that it will accomplish anything, he has sorely underestimated Temür Agha.”
“They could begin a siege, cut off trade to the city.” If Yasmeen were to attack it, she would begin that way. Rabat was isolated; an ocean on one side, a desert and zombies on the other. They depended on goods brought in by the Horde and other sources. “They could try to starve Temür out—or wait until the starving people ousted him themselves.”
“A siege with what? Sailing ships on the water, dreadnoughts in the air?” Hassan looked amused. “Wolfram did not destroy all of Temür’s war machines. He has hidden them in the desert so they will not loom over the city, but they are accessed easily enough.”
“Oh.” She glanced at Archimedes—who was staring at her mouth. “I suppose Rabat has nothing to worry about, then. Right, Wolfram?”
It took him a moment. His gaze lifted from her lips to her eyes, then like a man dying of thirst, he threw back the rest of his wine.
“I suppose not,” he said.
Guillouet had kept his papers in good order, so that her evening’s entries into the records were not the chore she’d been expecting. On the opposite side of the desk, Archimedes was making his own records: a rudimentary map of Brindisi, an inventory of the items they’d gathered, the locations of the items they’d left behind. It had killed him to leave the clockwork man, she knew—but he’d agreed it was best not to bring something of that value aboard a ship with a new captain, on an expedition where mutiny had threatened and blood had been shed.
Even if they had been the ones to shed it.
“You are the perfect match for me,” she said.
He stilled, then slowly lifted his head. His gaze caressed her face, emerald eyes dark and intense.
She leaned back in her chair. “But I think, for you, that is probably not enough.”
“It is.” His voice was rough.
“No. Not for Archimedes Fox, who throws himself into every danger, every excitement. ‘A good match’ would not be enough. It would be like drinking saltwater after wine. It is like lining up two people in bed like figures in a ledger. It adds up, but gold in hand is so much better.”
He tossed down his pen. “What are you saying?”
“I’m wondering what you thought when I kissed you today. About to be killed by zombies, perhaps you thought it for pity—or to give you reason to hold on.”
Wood shrieked as he came up out of his chair, braced his hands on the desk. His gaze bored into hers. “No.”
“I could not blame you. Because what followed then? Crew and dinner and ledgers. Hardly the passionate responses of a woman